


Breathe

by TwoCatsTailoring



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Old Flames, Rekindled Romance, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoCatsTailoring/pseuds/TwoCatsTailoring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snapshots about getting a second chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Does Anyone Want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations that need to happen are not always impossible.

“I don’t know what I want,” the words come out, smaller somehow than she wanted them to be. Somehow though she hopes that they don’t sound as uncertain as the actual words themselves might be. It just is what it is.

And what it is is how she feels. She’s been stranded here in his apartment for just over 24 hours, neither of them really going anywhere and they’ve circled around this conversation the whole time. 

They’ve come so close to having it at least a dozen times but one or both of them would back off at the last minute. The power has been sketchy at best, but the gas heating has done wonders for their moods if not for her hair, desperately in need of being washed but what bald man keeps shampoo?

But now, on this second evening they’ve run short and it all needs to be said. So here they are.

Rude leaned back in the leather armchair that seemed to have grown to fit only him and nodded a couple of times. “I don’t either,” and the admission seemed to ease the charge in the air, both of them breathing a little easier.

“I know I don’t want to not try…”

“… But I don’t want to force something that isn’t there,” she finished and they both nodded before sitting quietly for a few minutes. That happened a lot, the sitting quietly.

Chelsea rocked her foot against the top of the coffee table, hoping that her having it there wasn’t bothering him. The apartment was so orderly, so neat. She’d raided his closet that morning for a sweater and everything was hung grouped by article of clothing then by color, dark to light. It was slightly unnerving but no more so than the fact that his entire pantry was full of new bottles of alcohol. 

They’d trekked to the market nearby. She wasn’t able to survive on coffee alone.

Chelsea offered up a small shrug, “Don’t misunderstand, I do have feelings for you but I want to be completely sure…”

“…That they are not hold-overs from before.” Another tandem nod and another short silence.

It was Rude who broke it this time, his brows knitting together and his palms spread open, facing up. “Is that why you keep turning down sex?”

“It is the only reason,” was her immediate reply and he nodded again. A little more of the tension faded and Chelsea leaned forward a little, eyes wide, head to the side. “We both rushed that before. It only made things more complicated.”

He did not have to say a word. His expression communicated such clear disbelief that Chelsea rolled her eyes and gave a very unattractive snort of laughter. “At the risk of making you more insufferable, withdrawals were a bitch.”

His lack of comprehension was met with her lifted eyebrows which gave way to the dawning of realization on his whole face as his mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide before self-satisfaction had a smirk on his lips.

Chelsea made a gagging noise and stood up, padding toward the kitchen for another cup of tea. “I can’t breathe in here. Your ego is sucking out all the air.”

That seemed new, somehow. She didn’t remember him being quite so cocky. Yes, he was quiet and not exactly shy all those years before, but this level of swagger wasn’t what she’d expected. It was different, and she wasn’t completely sure she liked it. 

As the teabag steeped in the cup, she heard him stand and cross to the kitchen, too. He stopped at the bar, maybe leaning on it, she couldn’t tell with her back to him. 

“At the risk of making you blush,” there was a smile in his voice that she did not have to see to understand, “Withdrawals _were_ a bitch.” 

Chelsea’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter but she stirred her tea far too long waiting for him to go away. Damned if she would turn around and give him the satisfaction of her bright red cheeks.


	2. Bullshit

One more time, he tells himself. One more time and if it happens again he’ll say something. Because every date so far has ended the same way and he would like to know why. What he’s done. What is going on in her head.

Her shoes are quiet on the tiles in the hall leading to her apartment door. A movie and dinner on a nice night and they’d agreed to walk. Rude was very glad that she’d not dressed up this time and really was amused by her bright green sneakers. They suited her somehow.

At her door, same as usual. Petra snuffling at the other side, tail thumping against the hall table. “This was good. I had a lot of fun,” she said with a smile. “I mean, I won’t be letting you pick the movie again any time soon but….”

Rude spread his hands and tried to look affronted, “Listen if I had known that the dog died I would not have suggested it.”

Chelsea snickered and fought to keep frowning, “I’m sure. There’s this thing called the internet, you know.”

Rude gave her a level look and just shook his head. “You are so mean,” he sighed heavily with as much drama as he could manage. “But I promise I’ll spoil every movie from now on.”

She didn’t even try to hide her laugh this time and he smiled as she leaned forward and stood on her toes to kiss him goodbye. Here it was, and he was ready for it.

One of her hands on his face, pulling him down just enough and his hand hovered for just a second before resting on one of her hips, his other arm easing around her back. Was she going to do it again? For a second, he thought maybe not and his mind soared at the possibility.

Then, a hand on his chest, pushing him back, away and Chelsea slipping out of his arms. Again. A-fucking-gain. And he was sick of it. So he didn’t let her go.

“Rude,” Chelsea’s voice was kind, gentle, but clearly uncomfortable. “I need to go in.”

“Why won’t you let me hold you?” This was stupid.

She stiffened in his arms and pushed harder on his chest, “Let me go.”

“Tell me.”

“I just don’t want you to.” She twisted again and his hold broke. Chelsea took three steps back from him, all traces of a smile gone and something like anger in her face.

“Listen, if you don’t want this to go anywhere, I think you owe it to me to tell me that.” It was the bluntness that shocked him. “If I’ve wasted four months of your time, I don’t want to waste any more.” And the bitterness. He hadn’t expected that.

“I don’t _owe_ you a damned thing,” she spat back at him. “If you feel like your time has been wasted, you don’t have to come back.”

“I did not say that,” he returned, slightly louder than he’d intended to. “But I would like to be able to put my arm around you every once in a while, otherwise we will never get any farther.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Chelsea crossed her arms over her chest and shot daggers from her eyes. “Jumping right into my pants? Well that’s not going to happen if you can’t even respect a basic request!”

“Tell me why it is so important, then,” Rude insisted, shrugging. “Tell me why I can’t hug you or hold you or touch you.”

“I shouldn’t have to! You need to just accept it!”

“I will be happy to if you will just give me the reason!”

“I don’t owe you an explanation for every little thing, Rude.” She was near tears now and knew that she had to get out of there of this was all going to come apart. She turned, ignoring his reply and cutting him off by shutting the door in his face.

Ignoring her thrilled dog, she watched through the peephole to make sure he’d left before resting her head against the door and letting the tears fall.

So much had changed. So much water under the bridge, so much time and life and experience had been packed in to nearly ten years. For her, so much struggle, hiding, running, doing whatever she had to do to stay alive. Scraping by for years upon years of working everything from shop clerk to prostitution just to keep the snow off her head and enough food to not starve. Life in Midgar was never pretty and staying off ShinRa’s radar made it almost impossible.

When security came, it was shocking. Startling. A completely different world from the one she’d gotten used to. The WRO, even if only meant to be temporary, offered good pay, benefits, holiday time. Everything she’d ever considered to be normal was right there and suddenly, by chance, it was hers. A proper home, the ability to have a pet, and real furniture for the first time since she left her parent’s house – it all made her a little giddy. And then there was the food. Regular money could buy so much food. So much really good food. Things that tasted good and might even be some sort of fresh, not second hand stuff other people threw away.

Giddy turned in to a net gain of 30 pounds that she’d not been able to get rid of since she noticed it. And once she has noticed, she tried to not care. And did pretty well until Rude had turned back up, more built muscle and hard planes and corded wrists than she’d remembered. The picture of fitness and able to cram anything into his mouth and not gain an ounce.

How on earth was he supposed to stay interested in her when even she knew she looked like some sort of beached whale in a bathing suit? And she really wanted him to stay interested.

But was it worth this? Was it worth her standing here, crying her eyes out? Was it worth it to keep putting him off, holding him at arm’s length, and (as he’d put it) never getting any further? The frightened part of her wailed that yes, of course it was! It made complete sense! He’d at least be there even if she ached for the physical attention that he offered! At least he wouldn’t just disappear again!

Chelsea cursed her own nature then, contrary and practical and generally honest. Ok, blunt, brazen, and really good at bluffing her way through things that terrified her. That wailing, mewling creature who begged always for the easy path was doomed the minute she spoke up and before she had time to think, she’d pulled the door back open and stepped out into the hall.

She was thankful then for two things: the slowest elevator in Edge and a dog who was convinced that it was time for walkies. Because Rude was still waiting for the elevator and Petra galloped down the hall and wiggled her hairy right up against him. That saved Chelsea the trouble of saying his name or going down there herself.

There was only so much she could take after all.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” it all came out in a rush and her pride took a hit with every word. She supposed that it was good she still had some otherwise she might never get through this. “Because there’s an awful lot more of me than there was before.”

There. That was out. Chelsea’s heart pounded in her chest and she was looking at a place somewhere just above his left shoulder. Why was he so quiet? Why didn’t he say something? Move? Anything?

The elevator dinged, opening, and Petra stared between the two of them, running off and on the car until she realized that nobody was joining her and she gave up as the doors closed, leaving the humans behind.

Finally, with a note of exasperation that was barely recognizable, Rude asked, “Is that all?”

Looking at the floor now, Chelsea replied, “Yeah.”

Rude snorted. An unamused sound that made Chelsea look up, ready to set into him for being a jerk, an asshole, and a total loser that needed to leave only to be greeted with the largest eyeroll and unimpressed slump she’d ever seen.

“You think I didn’t notice that? Honestly, girl,” he shook his head, “that’s _it_?”

“Shut up,” she defended, hurt now that he was laughing at her. “If you are going to be an asshole, leave and don’t come back. I do not have time for you.

Rude frowned deeply and propped a fist on one hip.

“Shut up, yourself,” he demanded, “Do you honestly think that I didn’t notice? That I was so blind as to not realize that you’ve gained weight in a decade?” He scoffed at her foolishness and shrugged, helpless.

“I…,” she faltered and then clamped her mouth shut. He had a point. Not that she wanted to admit that right then.

“See? And now that you’ve realized that do you think I would have just spent four months of my life being shaken off a couple of times a week if I gave a single fuck?” Was she serious? This is what had been bothering her? Of all the things it could have been based on the history that he’d pieced together from her stories of what she’d been doing with herself all those years, it was a few straw pounds that was bothering her?

Women really were a great mystery.

“Well you don’t have to say it like that! It bothers me so I can only guess that it bothers you too!”

“Well, it doesn’t. So can I please kiss you properly and then move past this bullshit?”

“It is _not_ bullshit so no. No kissing for you. I have to go get my dog out of the lobby,” she added with an extra scowl his direction.

Rude smacked the elevator button again and crossed his arms. “It is bullshit because you assumed something about me that did not match what you knew.”

The two bickered back and forth, neither giving an inch until the elevator stopped, dinged, and the doors opened.

“How I feel is how I feel and I went with what I generally knew to be true,” Chelsea defended staunchly.

“And what evidence did you have to support this?”

“The evidence of your marathon clock, the fact you get up to run at 3am, and your gym-junkie lifestyle.”

“And when did I ever ask you to participate in any of those things?”

“You did though! Once when we were having lunch you asked me to join you!”

“And you said…”

“I declined and told you that it wasn’t really my thing.”

“And did I ever mention it again?”

“…….”

“Chelsea.”

“……….”

“………….”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“You…..!” Any retort was cut off by the most time-tested and effective method of shutting anyone up – giving their mouth something else to do.


	3. Second Job, Only Job.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes coming home is hard.

The tarmack is a subdued place this return. There’s a body bag in the back of one of the trucks this time and the medical crews are waiting for the injured. This doesn’t happen often - not in over a year for this squad. But when it does, she’s usually the one here. 

It is not a job that anyone would go out seeking. Being the person who tells someone that their son or daughter or wife or brother is dead isn’t something that anyone grows up wanting to be. Chelsea sure didn’t want the job when it came up but she needed something. And to her surprise, she was good at being the bearer of bad news.

It was really just listening. Carefully listening and connecting the dots of what this family might need from her soon. then having that information ready when they asked for it. 

This time, her only company is the lone family member who, turns out isn’t even family at all. Just a friend who’d made the move to Edge with the recently deceased. So while it is an emotionally charged situation, it is not chipping away at her soul like some do.

Quick too, and she manages to break away to have a word with the commanding officer who is headed their way. Fortunately, gravity suits her face and she greets him as if she doesn’t know him well at all, gives him a quiet explanation of the situation and then makes the introduction to the next of kin.

But, the friend left behind is easy to satisfy. No, there’s no other family to contact. Yes, he’ll be in touch soon about final arrangements. And that’s it. The remaining squadmembers who can stand at attention as their lost comrade passes them by one last time and then they disperse with their families or to the hospital to recover. 

The commanding officer turns back to her and gives her a characteristic single nod. “I am sorry to give you more work to do,” and she can tell that he means it. He seldom smiles anyway but his usual slight frown is sad, weary to the core. IT speaks volumes of sorrow and failure and something that will turn in to anger later, she’s sure.

“I am not just here to serve the dead, Commander,” she tells him with a gentle touch to his tattered and bloodstained sleeve. Chelsea’s got about thirty seconds before the next part of her job will begin but for right now? Right now she’s got thirty seconds to be herself.

She leans up, standing on her toes to reach properly and touches a kiss to the edge of his mouth. “Don’t stray far, Rude. I’ll meet you when I’m done.”

The first of the squad makes it to her then, ignoring Chelsea’s breach of professionalism in her quest for the keys to the private shower rooms one level down. Rude fades into the background, directing the unloading of damaged equipment as her time is monopolized by getting everyone what they need - from a bottle of water to the number for a counselor available right then.


	4. Oops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody can't keep their shit together and therefore got all the fancy bread.

“So this a date?” Chelsea’s chin tilted down and just a little to the left and her eyebrows went up.

“Well,” Rude blinked and scratched at his chin as he surveyed the situation. “It was certainly meant to be. But this was not part of the plan.”

 _This_ being the fact that a teenage girl was sobbing on the phone to her mother after having hit Rude’s parked car in the parking garage not three minutes after he and Chelsea had gotten out of it and walked to the elevator.

Chelsea giggled and turned away from the hysterical teenager so that she wouldn’t be offended by Chelsea’s reaction. “Should I go down and cancel our reservations?” Her offer was stifled and she told herself that she was only laughing because the girl was clearly not hurt. Had she been injured, of course Chelsea wouldn’t be laughing.

Rude stepped closer to her and said in an undertone laced with mirth as well, “If you can’t keep your shit together, then yes. Go cancel the reservations.”

Honestly, who hits a parked car?


End file.
